


Darkness be the Guiding Light

by emeraldsea



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:12:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8393914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldsea/pseuds/emeraldsea
Summary: Philip and Lukas let darkness be their guiding light.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by this fanvid: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbsnsbKRLNc
> 
> The song really got me. Do you remember by Jarryd James. Listen to the song while reading, it would convey the feels pretty well, I guess. :3

Philip wasn't interested in bikes; perhaps what he was interested in was the thrill of defying death alongside someone.

And that someone happened to be this fair-haired boy who rode dirt bikes. Philip felt _privileged_  to witness the elegance and finesse with which he did it, to clutch on to him as the wind rushed past violently, to brace himself from the quick and harsh jolts as he tightened his arms around him, and let out stunned gasps that were drowned in the howl of the wind and the screech of the bike.

It was adrenaline unlike any that he ever felt. The ever-present fear of falling and crashing to their deaths, defying it with one clever and dexterous manoeuvre after another...

See, that was the foundation on which their relationship was built - fear, and secrecy, and death. The kisses and sighs, and the warmth that they shared, that they let sear into each other’s skins, were consecrated by the muted light that surrounded them, and then, by the darkness of the night, and then, by death himself as he visited them in the form of a cold and ruthless killer.

There were bursts of colour and bright light occasionally - when _he_ smiled, or laughed, or shook his head of flaxen hair and teased him about something. Philip lived for those rare moments. He did not want the colour and the bright light too often, because it was a special kind of pleasure to wait, and torture himself a little, for those moments.

And so when he went to his home after getting thrashed by him in public, he kissed him. He _knew_ that there was a reciprocity of feelings from Lukas’s end.

Lukas felt embarrassed to associate himself with him before others. And yet, when they were together, secluded from the world, Lukas forgot everything except the present moment he shared with Philip; watching his lips form a smile, or a laugh, watching his eyes flutter shut when he leaned in to kiss him, learning the flat and plane angles of his body, the sharp angle along his jaw, the strength and yet, the pliability - so unlike a girl.

Philip always wondered why Lukas seemed so broken. He _knew_ he was broken, just like him, and that ‘spoiled rich kid’ taunt was a mere retaliation to the hurt Lukas brought him with his constant capriciousness. But then again, he found that same special pleasure in being the victim of Lukas’s fickle mind and broken spirit.

He loved the way their relationship was so volatile, unsteady as the surface of rough water. It made them both _ache_.

He did not expect for their relationship to grow into something serious, no, he wasn’t as naive as to expect that from someone like Lukas - who would accept neither the truth regarding himself, nor associate himself with someone like Philip.

So when he said that he wouldn’t be his little bitch, he was only torturing himself, by longing for something more from him, despite the facts that were stacked against such a possibility. When he rushed down the stairs and waited at the door, waited, with held breath, waited, heart thudding, once again - just voluntary self-torture.

But then Lukas urged him, angrily, to not tell anyone anything, then kissed him with a tenderness that was a contrast to his actions and his words, and his heart broke again. _No, he won’t tell anyone, even if it meant the end of the two of them_. Did he kiss him because it meant something, or was it just to make him obey?

That night, though, the air was different, because the killer had finally figured out who the eyewitnesses were to the crime. But once again, they’d let the darkness of the night guide them.

Lukas was inside him, a hand buried in his hair, holding him close. Philip shivered under his heated skin, and he sobbed quietly when he drove in, and stayed.

Making his stance clear on whether he was gay or straight didn’t matter to Lukas anymore. Amid shaky moans and heavy breaths, amid muddled, blinded thoughts, all that mattered was this moment. This moment, when they were one. This moment, when they were bound, tighter than ever, by the darkness.

Lukas tightened his grip on Philip’s hair, pulled him closer, drove in deep, and watched him shake under the force of it; he pulled back, pushed in, all the while watching him - him utter a small cry, close his half-mast eyes, before he opened them again feebly, only to close them and quiver under yet another plunge, and another, and another..

“We can leave this place,” Lukas whispered, close against his lips, “Start anew, somewhere far from here.”

Philip wanted to reply; he simply couldn’t, though, under this deluge of feelings, under Lukas’s deep, drawn-out thrusts. He only tried to clutch onto Lukas’s damp hair, his slick shoulder, his slim waist.

And even if he did not have Lukas buried deep inside him, making his head swim and his soul ache, he wouldn’t have known how to reply. He had been rendered speechless, numb with shock, from the events that had transpired under the watchful eye of the night. The same dark night that had blessed their relationship.

Lukas killed the FBI agent. Simply killed him. Shot him point blank. It seemed as if the act required almost no thought for Lukas. The FBI agent had his gun pointed at Philip, and that was reason enough for Lukas to gain that moment of perfect reflexes and agility, a flawlessness that surpassed that of a well trained agent. And the reason, the motivation for that was solely Philip. Philip, and no other reason.

Lukas picked up his pace. It was only a rush of blood now. And desperation. Desperation; desperate, pent-up love.

Philip realized that never once did Lukas close his eyes from the moment they started making love. Never once did he let he let his eyes stray from him.

Philip opened his eyes, and found him close, his flaxen hair a beautiful mess, and his grey eyes with their pupils blown wide; they looked almost black. They were on him, on him, nowhere else. On him, as if he were the only thing that mattered to him.

Philip placed a trembling, wondering hand against the side of his face.

Lukas made to speak. “I..” Too late. A staccato of stifled, strangled cries, and he buried his fair head into Philip’s neck. They were wound so tight, it seemed impossible they could be separated. Muscles went taut, nails sunk in, and the moans were desperate, drawn-out pleas for an end to this blissful torture.

Philip knew what Lukas wanted to say. He knew, and that was why he refused to let go even after the heat had abated, and the heartbeats had slowed. He could keep him inside forever.

And Philip did not need Lukas to complete his unfinished sentence. He found his lost voice back to tell him, whisper into his ear so that it seared right into his mind, that he loved him, too.


End file.
